


I Don't Mind Watching

by tuesdaycoming



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication, Competence Kink, Complicated Relationships, Cunnilingus, Explicit Consent, F/M, Face-Sitting, Masturbation, Oral Sex, The amount that would be the natural result of very sharp teeth, To the extent the characters think it's necessary, Voyeurism, light Knife Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 10:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30104256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaycoming/pseuds/tuesdaycoming
Summary: Halfway home, Grizzop glances up, “Listen—”“Can I watch again?”Well.
Relationships: Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Sasha Racket
Comments: 17
Kudos: 31





	I Don't Mind Watching

**Author's Note:**

> Been working on this since November? Goodness.

When Sasha descends from the rooftop where she and Grizzop are perched, the men they’re hunting have no chance. Grizzop knows this the moment her feet leave the stone, and she falls with her dagger tucked close to her chest until she passes one of the men and flings her arm out to slice his neck. Sasha tucks her shoulder in to catch her fall, rolling and twisting to meet the second man before he is even aware the first has fallen. It’s dark, but there’s moonlight enough to shine off Sasha’s blade. This high up, Grizzop cannot quite read her expression, but if her outer layers were not so deeply black, he imagines he’d be able to see the blood soaking into her jacket sleeve. He’ll see it later, edging the cuff of one of the white shirts she favors. On anyone else, it might strike him as sloppy. On Sasha, it’s boasting. 

Grizzop lets an arrow loose. It flies true, straight through the second man’s neck, and Grizzop sees the light catch on Sasha’s teeth when she grins up at him. Grizzop scrambles his way down to her side where she’s already going through their pockets. “Gotcha following behind me now.” Sasha finds a small packet of letters and a coin purse. The coin purse disappears into an inner pocket of her jacket. “It’s a good shot. He’s still gurgling, though.” 

“We might need to question him.” Which could have been decent reasoning if he’d shot him anywhere other than the neck, but Grizzop feels he can be excused. It was a good shot. Sasha’d said so. And this way he gets to watch up close when she pulls out a dagger from her boot with a flourish, joy not utility, to slice his throat an inch below the hole Grizzop put there. “Hardly fair,” he grins. “There’s not another one around for me to match you on.” 

“Yeah, but I’ll remember.” Sasha wipes the blood from her blade on the man’s trousers and tucks it back into safe keeping until it’s time for all her sharp tools to be brought out one by one to be cleaned and inspected. Even the magic daggers, which clean themselves, and the little collection of adamantine she’s built up are brought out on those nights. Grizzop can respect that. He knows it’s only right to take care of tools, particularly when they serve so well, but watching Sasha with her whetstone never quite makes it into the part of Grizzop’s brain labeled ‘utility.’ Heat tends to curl in his gut at the sight of a bloodied blade, to know he’ll get to watch her put it to rights again. “Grizzop?” 

He manages not to look startled at the wad of letters held in front of him, but Sasha’s lips quirk up. “You hot from just that? Thought I had to do something impressive, didn’t I?” Grizzop rolls his eyes and grabs the letters. He turns to the side to catch a bit of light from above so he can rifle through the papers, confirming these were the men they’d been looking for. It would have been a shame if they weren’t, but he’d been reasonably sure. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the flash of a dagger tossed twice Sasha’s height into the air. She catches it by the blade, and it’s Grizzop who sucks in a breath. Sasha winks at him. “See, that’s what’s impressive, right?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

They bundle the bodies into a cart. Grizzop makes a note to make sure it will be returned in the morning. It should bother him, he thinks, that there’s less paperwork to bring in a dead body than a live one at the local temple, but honestly, it’s just convenient. 

Halfway home, a thought that still sticks on his tongue when he tries to voice it, Grizzop glances up, “Listen—” 

“Can I watch again?” 

Well. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“Yeah, but I asked to.” Sasha pins him with an incredulous look, like he’s a fool for not taking her at her word. That’s probably true, but Artemis above, it isn’t like it’s a thing they talk about. Sasha’d found him the first time (not nearly the first time) with his hand down his trousers in an alley with her name on his lips. She’d cocked her head. “People can see you, you know?” It hadn’t been Grizzop’s proudest climax. 

“You can watch.” Grizzop would look away, but Sasha is twisting that same dagger through her fingers. It should catch, but they’re long fingers. He’s spent a long time watching her practice this. Long enough to be pretty sure the missing finger helps with the trick, lets the flat of the blade flip right side round when she reaches the end of the sequence and starts again. 

The first time Grizzop took someone back to his little room in the temple for a fuck, he attempted to sneak them in. It was a hopeless case. The ensuing lecture had left an odd taste. Shame, but for what, he’d never been sure. Eva hadn’t seemed sure herself at the time, though he wondered, later, if it had been more her shame than his. 

Sasha has none of it. 

She heads straight to Grizzop’s room and sits herself down in the chair that, somewhere around the fifth time, became hers. It’s already facing his bed. 

It would be easier, he thinks, if this were still an adrenaline fueled reaction to seeing Sasha with blood on her hands and smile playing at her lips. Not that he doesn’t still feel wired and knock-kneed at the same time as he undoes the straps of his breastplate, but there’s no getting around that this is a choice they’ve both made. Grizzop has always prided himself in his good judgment. 

Sasha’s quiet until he’s stripped down and laid on the bed, his feet planted firm so he can palm his cock and thrust into his hand. “Next time, you can go first, yeah? I’ll match you.” It takes him an addled second to catch up. 

“You can’t throw as far as I can shoot.” 

“Don’t have to.” When Grizzop turns his head to look at Sasha, she’s leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. His breath hitches. “I could get real close, yeah?” She pulls a knife from her boot and her shoulders shift to a stalking position. “And you could shoot from your angle up wherever, and you wouldn’t hit me,” he wouldn’t, “So I could be right there, and—” the blade twists, driving up through a spectral foe in a way that would pin them with Grizzop’s arrow angled down and Sasha’s dagger up. The lamplight is low, but it catches on the polished metal and Grizzop blinks hard. 

“Could do that.” He says and Sasha laughs. She does that more now. For a while, the only sound is the slickness of Grizzop’s hand and the small noises he has to remind himself are fine to let out. Nothing is hunting him and he knows now how Sasha likes to be able to tell what he’s feeling. 

Sasha hums, and when Grizzop looks over at her, she’s crossed her legs. As he watches, she uncrosses them, folds them again, and it hits him that she’s turned on. Fidgeting. Wet. Grizzop is sure that if he wasn’t allowed to know, he wouldn’t have any idea. It pulls a noise out of him, high in his throat. “Could take care of that for you.” Sasha eyes snap from his hand to his face. “If you want.” 

She snorts and her body stills. “Aren’t you busy, Grizzop? You look busy.” 

“Good at multitasking.”

She snorts. “You’re not.” 

Sasha’s stealth lies in her body, not her face. The consideration she gives the offer is easy to read, but Grizzop still holds his breath. It won’t be a problem if she declines. But he is desperate for her not to. 

She stands, and takes off her trousers before crossing to the bed. It isn’t the first time Sasha’s been close to him while he touched himself. She has, on several occasions, laid her head on his pillow while kneeling beside the bed so she could look down over his body. Once, when he’d finished, she sighed and said he was “sort of pretty,” before walking out of the room, and Grizzop hadn’t moved for an hour. Now, she’s standing, hand raised over him, “How d’ you—” 

“You can kneel.” Grizzop hitches his chin up, not quite able to voice what he hopes in case it isn’t what she has in mind. The moment Sasha understands, her eyes widen and narrow in quick succession. In one smooth move, Sasha is on top of him, knees on either side.

Grizzop moves both hands to her thighs. If he doesn’t stop touching himself, he’ll finish, and there’s a decent chance Sasha won’t— she shuffles up, hesitates. Her lips, he is careful to keep his eyes high, twist in that thoughtful way. “It’s just, you know, you’ve got a lot of teeth, Grizzop.” 

“You’ve got a knife.” Several. Sasha’s jacket is still on. There must be at least half a dozen hidden in her sleeves and tucked into secret pockets. Grizzop’s tried to make a record of them, but he thinks she must move them around at night. Sasha bends two fingers toward her left palm and her ice dagger snicks out of her wrist sheath, quick as a blink. Inches away from his skin, Grizzop can feel the chill of it. 

“Guess that makes us even then.” 

“We’re really not.” The admission is worth it to see her laugh. Sasha doesn’t put the dagger down, but that’s fine. 

She’s just out of reach, and he’s of half a mind to just reach up and pull her down, but Grizzop stays still. He lets Sasha do her considering, and it’s worth it when she gets up to turn around, spreads her knees wide over his face so she can just reach his neck with the edge of her blade. “There. You can—” The words are barely out of her mouth before Grizzop caves and licks into her. It is gratifying to feel the way she hitches forward and leans, splaying one hand over his chest to hold herself steady. She is rich on his tongue. Even if her pleasure isn’t for him it’s about him, and this is enough. 

He’s careful with his teeth, but it’s delaying the inevitable. Sasha hisses, answers the prick against the soft skin of her thigh with a nick on his neck. Sasha starts to apologize, but Grizzop groans into her and she huffs. “You’re impossible. You know that?” He might answer if he could think. It isn’t important. “Should have known you’d be hot for a knife on you.” 

Grizzop makes a noise that gets lost between Sasha’s thighs. When she moves against him, the shift of her skin against his ears is loud, near overwhelming. “Fuck.” Sasha presses the flat of the ice dagger’s blade against his chest. She would ask, he is almost sure, to cut him more than she has. The cold of the blade feels almost as if she already is. It wouldn’t be a problem. 

“Just—” Sasha squeezes her thighs and huffs. “Hold. Hold still, Grizzop.” 

When Grizzop stills, he feels like he’s been spotted by quarry, every muscle tensed and trembling with fear that what he seeks will flee from him, his intentions spotted. 

“T’s a lot.” Sasha says. He can feel her hand on his chest rising and falling with his breaths. “Can I just—” Grizzop stays still while she settles herself, hands itching to reach up and wrap around her thighs. “Thanks.” She pats his chest and Grizzop has to close his eyes as warmth unfurls in him. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks. 

Sasha lifts the dagger from his skin and Grizzop arches a little beneath her, chasing it. He can feel her exhalation above him, laughing at him. “Eager. Sort of want to turn around so I can hold onto the wall.” He wants to see her. “Promise you won’t nick me again if I do?” 

“I can’t.” 

Her turn is graceful and quick, and all at once Grizzop can see her face above him, sweating and pink and fierce. He swallows. 

“’M gonna sit on you again, alright?” Grizzop nods. “You just— you can touch me, Grizzop.” He can hear the clink of metal against wood when she puts her hands against the wall, dagger still held tight. Sasha leans forward so her cunt is just above his lips, and Grizzop’s hands fly to her thighs. 

There is only so much care he can take when she lowers herself down and rocks into his mouth. He can smell blood, taste it under the overwhelming scent of Sasha’s slick when he presses his tongue against her clit and she presses insistently against him. 

He can hear her over the roaring in his ears, soft noises as he sucks and laps that coalesce into his name hissed out and repeated. “Grizzop, Grizzop.” 

Sasha’s hips stutter and there is a clatter and Grizzop’s hands flex over her skin when he realizes she’s dropped the dagger behind his headboard. She squirms when she comes. Grizzop knows that this, perhaps even more than the taste of her, is the detail that will plague him. 

Her dismount is not quite so graceful. There is no small amount of satisfaction in that, and Grizzop watches her steps sway when Sasha leaves his bed to return to her chair. His face is wet with her. When Sasha turns and sits down hard, her legs spread as they always do, and he can see the shine of her slick on her thighs. 

“Sasha—” Grizzop’s tongue flicks out to catch a taste from the corner of his lips. She leans forward, elbows on her knees again to watch. He wonders if she meant to pick up her trousers, but they’re still there in the wide space between them. She pulls a dagger from her other sleeve. 

“Go on then.” Sasha bites her words back before her voice can become unsteady. “Let me watch.” 

“Fuck.” Grizzop laughs and trails his hand down his chest. She doesn’t have to watch for long.


End file.
